Free Bring Him Back by Scott Mariani Page A

held the pedal to the floor and struggled to keep this overpowered barge in a straight line. The Ferrari was a shrinking white dot in the distance. There was no way Ben could stay with it. He saw it vanish around a right-hand bend a hundred and fifty yards away, and knew that might be the last he’d see of it.
    He couldn’t afford to lose Drew and Carl. Not now that they knew he was after them. They’d simply go to ground and he’d never find them again.
    It was time for a short cut. Ben saw the little sidestreet flashing up on his right and took the gamble, turning into it with a squeal of tyres and roaring through the narrow space between the houses. Never mind the no vehicular access sign. If his hunch was right, this would cut off a corner and he’d have a sporting chance of catching the Ferrari at the other end.
    Or perhaps not. The sidestreet came to an abrupt end up ahead.
    ‘Christ,’ Ben muttered as he went to hit the brakes; then he saw it wasn’t a cul-de-sac. It was a steep downward flight of steps, bisected down the middle by an iron hand railing.
    There was nothing for it. Ben steered right for the steps, keeping his foot down hard on the gas. The brink flashed towards him, like the edge of a waterfall that was about to tip his boat vertical and send it plummeting down to the bottom. He aimed the big square nose of the Rolls at the gap between the iron railing and the stone wall. Felt his front wheels run out of road; then they seemed to fall into space for a second before hitting the steps with a violent jolt that almost pitched Ben through the windscreen. The space between the railing and the wall was perhaps half an inch wider than the Rolls. With a screeching rending of handbuilt coachwork on stone on one side and solid iron on the other, the car hammered unstoppably down the steps.
    All Ben could do was hang on. He braced himself for impact as the bottom of the steps raced closer. The Rolls crunched down at a forty-five-degree angle, bouncing all over the road in a shower of sparks, trailing its badly twisted front bumper and leaving the shattered remains of a headlight behind it. Ben sawed wildly at the wheel and stamped on the accelerator. If the old tank was as solid as it felt, it could take a little abuse. This was nothing.
    And there was the Ferrari, dead ahead. Ben’s gamble had paid off. He smiled grimly as he saw Drew glance back with a look of astonishment. ‘You don’t get away that easily, matey boy.’
    Moments later, they were approaching the limits of town and roaring into the hills. The last of the buildings gave way to verdant countryside, the road twisting upwards between the trees as they climbed over the town. Once again, the Ferrari’s huge speed advantage quickly began to tell as it shrank smaller and smaller into the distance ahead. Ben swore. Drew was going to leave him far behind, and that would be it. Then all hopes of catching him would have to be pinned on the French and Italian police.
    Ben clenched his jaw as he finally lost sight of the tiny white speck of the speeding sports car. He eased back on the throttle, and the Rolls engine settled down to a smooth purr. The chase was over and he’d lost.

 
     
     
     
     
    13
    BEN WAS WONDERING what the hell to do next when he rounded the next bend, tighter than the others, and saw smoke drifting on the breeze up ahead. His heart began to thump.
    Piled into a tree at the side of the road was the buckled wreckage of the Ferrari, deep trenches cut into the verge where it had skidded out of control. The twisted-up tyre marks were all over the Tarmac.
    Drew Hunter was sitting on the grass near the wrecked car, blood trickling from a cut on his temple. Carl was bent over him, apparently quite unhurt and dabbing attentively at his father’s wound with a handkerchief. They both turned to look as the Rolls appeared. Ben saw Drew lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder, as if to say, ‘I’m sorry, son. I tried.’
    Ben screeched to